


12 Hours

by skund



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark knows regrets, and how to deal with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12 Hours

  
_Lyrics from 12 Hours by The Whitlams_

_Spent 12 hours drinking, slept with someone that looked like you_

The New York afternoon was sweet and clear, especially ninety-three stories up Stark Tower. Tony leaned against the floor length window, the cool of the glass soothing against his aching head. He’d overdone it again last night. The ice in his tumbler of whiskey chimed softly in time with his trembling hand.

He was always overdoing things.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing surveying the city below, the sinking sun, the turn of the Earth. New York was so pretty in the spring. The rain washed the streets clean, sweeping away the rubbish and grime, removing all manner of sins. Like blood on the Courthouse steps…  
A staccato beat on the imported Italian tiles warned him before she even entered the room (not knocking, never knocking) but Tony didn’t bother to move. He was beyond hiding, beyond shame.

Pepper placed a pile of folders on his desk, her eyes going cold at the sight of the drink in his hand.

He rolled his shoulders, almost a shrug, and felt too much play in his jacket. He’d lost weight again and his suits felt awkward. Too much emptiness.

Pepper fixed him with a glare and left without a word. His drinking was a battle between them long dead, for which Tony was glad. He was so damn tired of fighting.

_If they let me into heaven, they can close down hell_

Tony rolled the ice around his glass, watched it melt. Vanishing without a trace. Some things did that, just vanish. Not even leaving any pieces behind to play with. Tinker with. Tony liked tinkering. On the days his hands were steady enough.

You can’t fix something without pieces.

Tony rarely considered the notion that he’d find something he couldn’t fix. He’d never ever thought that it would be his own soul.

_Some drown their sorrows, mine they like to swim  
Pour another one barman, cause the rodent got back in_.


End file.
